Navarro
Well-known member
Won't that be fun, eh?
Fallout The Eagle And The Bear [Fallout AU]
- Thread starter Navarro
- Start date
Won't that be fun, eh?
Navarro
Well-known member
To help deal w/ my writers' block, redoing that old paint thing I did for current US Army PA camo:
An American sergeant of the 2nd Armored Division, in standard-issue T-72 Mk. 7 PA. The armour is painted in the typical US woodland camo scheme, fitting for the forests and plains of northern Texas and Oklahoma where the 2nd has recently seen action. It's expected that if US forces push significantly west these forest colours will be replaced by desert and urban pattern, as the American military expects years of grinding desert campaigns and bloody urban battles before its men set eyes on the Pacific.
An American sergeant of the 2nd Armored Division, in standard-issue T-72 Mk. 7 PA. The armour is painted in the typical US woodland camo scheme, fitting for the forests and plains of northern Texas and Oklahoma where the 2nd has recently seen action. It's expected that if US forces push significantly west these forest colours will be replaced by desert and urban pattern, as the American military expects years of grinding desert campaigns and bloody urban battles before its men set eyes on the Pacific.
Last edited:
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Navarro
Well-known member
Chapter Twenty-Seven
13:30 CST, 20 February 2332
Fort Worth, Texas
“There’s a glad tomorrow comin’ and we know it won’t be long,
‘Till our force has won the battle and come home so bold and strong,
But until we win the victory many soldier boys will die,
Still Old Glory stands for freedom and we’ll fight to hold her high,”
Dean Hart had always been a good kid. Pa had always done his best to raise him right, make sure his son got good grades and behaved well. He’d passed a couple of years back, two years before the war. Dean’d been fifteen then and he remembered bitterly how rough it had been. Ma’s eyesight was starting to fail and she couldn’t work the store by herself and he had three younger brothers to try and lead. And there were always various varmints - rattlers, super-ants, radscorps and so on. Most of them he could take down with one or two shots from a hunting rifle - he was a pretty good shot. A year and a half ago, just before all the trouble started, there’d been a hog broke into the outskirts of the town, near where he lived.
He’d been so scared, but Ma had given him the key to a case in the attic and in there there’d been an assault rifle from Dad’s old Army days. He’d taken it out and given that hog a full clip between the eyes. Critter was too stupid to know it should die though, and it kept on rushing at him - he’d just made the thing angry. So, as it was rushing on with its razor-sharp tusks the size of a man’s forearm, 600 pounds of fat and muscle, kevlar-grade skin and all bearing down on him, he’d hastily loaded another clip and fired full pelt, letting out a prayer to God and Jesus to spare him that beast’s rancour. One of his wildly-fired shots had hit in the eye and it had come to a stop just at his feet. God for sure makes us Texas kids tough … guess we have to be in a world like this.
“There’ll be smoke on the water, on the land and the sea
When our army and navy overtakes the enemy,
There’ll be smoke on the mountains like there never was before,
And the great rebel nation will go down forevermore,”
Dean took a deep breath as the music kept piping from the recruitment hall, already becoming a kinda background noise to him. This was a bigger thing too than killing that hog. But he had to do this. He’d seen it on the nightly news, what the Calis had done. Damncalis, he was starting to think of ‘em as. He’d heard American soldiers call them that moving through after the big battle around Dallas. Dean had kept his head down for that and the months of fighting before. He wasn’t one to mess with power-armoured soldiers, plus the kids and Ma had needed looking after. But after what they’d done to the Alamo ...
The queue was long and he for sure wasn’t the only one in it, so Dean idled himself looking at the posters on the wall of the building as it slowly moved. There was one with an older man looking at his kids, as they accusingly looked at him. “WHAT DID YOU DO IN THE WAR, DADDY?” ran the question. Another showed kids under the menacing shadow of a bear - “DON’T LET IT TOUCH THEM! JOIN THE US ARMY”. And yet another … showed old Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie looking on approvingly at soldiers in US armour fighting an unseen foe, firing in all directions against a darkening sky.” AMERICANS WILL NEVER SURRENDER TO THE ENEMIES OF FREEDOM!”
He turned his eyes away and back to the queue. What the Calis had done couldn’t be forgiven. They were already saying on their own news radio that the Americans were at fault somehow, but Dean didn’t trust ‘em. When the Americans were fighting in Dallas they’d sent a whole battalion of troops to protect the old memorial to Kennedy. They wouldn't do a thing to the Alamo.
“... We don’t always follow with it, but we know what’s right and wrong …”
He’d gone round that evening, talked to his old class. They all agreed they needed to do something to make the Calis regret it and even a number of the girls had decided to sign up with the Americans. One of them had been his girl - he’d brought her round this morning to the city, signed everything all proper with a justice of the peace. Not how he’d wanted it to happen, but he hoped they’d let them stay together if they were married. The queue kept on moving, and soon he found he was taking his first step into a US military recruitment station. Ice clenched around his heart, but he kept it up right to the desk. He’d made a promise to all of his friends and he wouldn’t chicken out. The lobby was crowded, and filled with faces; he recognised some as his classmates and smiled politely when he met their eyes, but many more were strangers to him.
Signing his name on the dotted line and taking the oath almost felt like a formality after it was done with. He knew who he was with now. That was the biggest relief of all.
05:30 CST, 22 February 2332
Veracruz, Mexico
Captain Lionel Barrett looked over Veracruz one last time under the steel-blue sky of just before dawn as he got into the VB-03 transport, freshly painted in jungle-pattern camo in preparation for Operation Filibuster. Vee-bird transports - both the new craft and the older models - were already taking off and heading northeast across the sea of adobe-walled, red-tiled houses as Dornan IFVs and Lejeune light tanks swam back to the amphibious ships that had sent them ashore. The city’s defenders had not put up much resistance to the Marines, as landings and air assaults backed by the firepower of the Caribbean Fleet had stormed the local beaches, cut off the roads leading to the city, and swept into it from the north from just after dark on the 18th to mid-afternoon on the 19th. The dark shapes of factories and railhouses on the city’s outskirts were still silhouetted against the mountains on the distant horizon.
In desperation and terror at the overwhelming force of PA soldiers encased in the US military’s toughest suits, T-90 Hellfire (what better for us Devil Dogs?, Barrett sometimes mused), the Mexican soldiers garrisoning the city had fled into the surrounding fields, rapidly establishing a crude perimeter of trench lines around it as if to contain an enemy beachhead. Perhaps they were planning a counter-attack, one they had little to no chance of actually pulling off. Be that as it may, they would find no enemies to attack when they launched their strike. The Fifth Marine Division’s job was done here in Veracruz.
The Mexican army had been crushed in the north, and in the south a message had been sent to the Imperial government in letters carved out by USMC Peacemaker rifles. The US military could do as it pleased in Mexico. That a full-scale invasion had not taken place was a matter of choice, not of ability. Barrett sighed. Teach them a lesson and leave, he mused. Dunno if that’ll just make them angry or not. But more important things than this punitive expedition were taking place to the north. The Calis had taken San Antonio and Austin, forcing Governor Armstead to flee the city and putting the 55th Corps’ back against the Rio Grande. The renegade Texan forces who were guarding the NCR army’s flank against the remaining US forces in the region had held out against the probes that had been launched so far.
Interesting, Barrett thought, Filibuster’s probably gonna be delayed a month or two. Good luck for the Calis, I have to say.
-*-
Several hundred miles to the north, the small city of Corpus Christi was a whirlwind of activity. Ships, vertibirds, and cargo planes were unloading troops by the hundreds every hour; National Guard, Marines, German and British infantry clad in olive-green and beige tan respectively. General Theodore A. Dornan looked over the reports with frustration. The Fifth would take at least a day to arrive here and the Sixth and Eighth were still being redeployed from the Midwest, in two days at least - all he had right now was the Seventh Division, part of the Second Marine Expeditionary Force.
He couldn't help but let out a chuckle as he worked, taking a moment to run a finger through the strands of grey already in his hair - this was the very building where the Texans and Rians had tried to broker peace between the Rebs and Uncle Sam. As if talking and conferencing and dealmaking could solve the greatest political confrontation that had ever been seen on the continent. There’d been secession before, true, but the new gang of rebels weren’t satisfied with that. They wanted to destroy the Federal Government, probably the State and Commonwealth governments too and … then what? Let anarchy reign to replace what had been the most effective system of government ever devised? It has to be sheer nihilism that’s driving them, he mused. Sheer desire to destroy us for some unknowable Godforsaken reason.
Dornan could sympathise with the enemy at the front though. He’d seen the reports from the POW camps, the questionnaires and interrogation files. Most of the Reb soldiers said they were fighting to defend their country. A fair few believed they were “liberating” the USA, and had reacted with confusion and even denial on being shown evidence of a democratic society. A few, most from Norcal, showed nothing but hatred and anger.
He sighed again and looked round the office at the messily-detailed paper folders and the computer’s disorganised collection of files displaying e-mails and reports from across the battlespace. The US Marines were organised into twelve divisions of ten thousand under the banner of three Marine Expeditionary Forces, a hundred and twenty thousand that made up America’s best fighting men and women. Usually up to this war they’d been deployed in small, bite-sized formations - a regiment here and there to take a beach or storm an objective. Now whole Divisions and Expeditionary Forces were being deployed in numbers to fulfil High Command’s strategic goals.
Dornan couldn’t help but find that exasperating, but he knew why. The situation at St. Louis had been so bad the 2nd MEF had been deployed to help break the siege, and now it was still somewhat out of position as the enemy threw forward a fresh offensive. He’d disagreed with the decision to throw a full Division at Veracruz - a Regiment, he felt, would have been enough to chasten the Mexicans - but orders were orders, and now he was in this mess. If everything goes badly, High Command may have no troops available for Filibuster, he grimly mused. What made this damn fool situation even worse was that his own neck was now on the line because of their games.
Which was why he was frantically recollecting his Expeditionary Force and gathering other forces that had been assigned to the area. The Marines didn’t sit back and hunker down in bunkers and trenches like Army folks did at O’Hare. When they were attacked, Devil Dogs went out to meet the enemy. Together with co-ordinated support from the 55th and 45th Corps, along with the other US Army units in Texas, he had a feeling he, together with General Granite’s forces, could smash the NCR salient, maybe even lop off it’s head completely and crush the encircled remnants. A risky move, but well worth the payoff if I can make it work.
He gritted his teeth. His great-grandpa hadn’t fallen at Navarro for nothing. Sitting here and waiting to die was no option. Ain’t nothing stops no Marine!. That’d been what his drill instructor had yelled at him the first day at Camp Lejeune, and by God he was going to live up to it.
==*==
14:00 EST, 22 February 2332
The White House, Washington DC
Another day, another cabinet meeting. It had been decades since Nate’s introduction to the world of high-stakes Presidential politics, as Secretary of War from 2293 to 2302, but somehow he had never gotten quite used to it. They were all there of course - Vice President Richardson at his right hand, McCain at his left, then following on from there a number of other officials and top military personnel.
He ‘d received the report from General Autumn today of course - the NCR had advanced rapidly over Texas in the past few days, almost to the coast. The drive southward had stalled though, as it seemed elements of their forces were busy re-orienting to strike south-west towards the river that had for many centuries served as the USA’s southern border while others struck south to cut off their retreat by land. A hundred and fifty thousand enemy soldiers, with a Corps and a half of Texans watching their eastern flank backed by another twenty thousand NCR troopers. They were playing for keeps here. The skies above central Texas were still too contested to launch a significant air strike, though the air bases at Artemisa, Lake Charles and Houston were keeping the east and south of the state under US aerial control.
Governor Armstead had evacuated to Houston - it was imperative that she not be seen to flee Texas.
Richardson looked especially disconcerted about the news.
“Mr. President,” he began, tousling his sandy-blond hair, sweating. “As I’ve argued before, I’d suggest enacting selective service in response to the present situation.”
Nate shrugged. The draft had last been used during the war with China - those ten years of struggle against Red domination that had ended with the communists destroyed but left the nation shattered for centuries, to the point that its very survival for some time had been an open question. Technically, conscription had been a possibility in the early days of reclamation - but Autumn had chosen not to enact it. The benefits of joining the US military had been impossible to resist for wastelanders in those days, and he had not wanted the US government seen as slavers.
“No, Leo,” he sighed. “The time isn't right. I’ll do that if I have to, but only when it’s necessary. Now, as for the situation in the midwest?”
“Cantrell reports her forces are still prepping for the big push west,” McCain explained. “We’ve shored up our position in Missouri and established a defence line along I-44. Almost all of Oklahoma has fallen in with us as well; we have the whole eastern half of the State under US authority, and the old Texan governor has sworn his loyalty oath to the Federal Government.”
“And the North?”
“Chase will launch his strike at Duluth in two or so days. A pincer from Minneapolis and Thunder Bay, just to shore up his position while he gets the main attack ready in three weeks.”
Nate nodded enthusiastically. Everything in those theatres was according to plan. The fly in the ointment was Texas. Not just because of the general push westward and the fact that Texas was the only thing between the US and California’s front door - but because until that problem was resolved Filibuster and everything that built on it - Newlands, Mameluke, Barbary and other code-named operations - were off the table. Travis’ administration had calculated that a million soldiers could be gotten out of Texas if need be too - though that itself was overly optimistic, even a quarter of that was equal to an additional field Army and more.
He looked over to Martha Fairchild. The CIA Director looked stern and icy, as ever - even her slenderness was tightly-wound, a lioness ready to pounce. The damn lady’s inscrutable, he thought. It was a quality he wouldn’t appreciate if he wasn’t already assured of her loyalty.
“We have significant penetration of the Brotherhood Militia, and a loose network of insurgents prepared to rise up at my signal. I also think it may be possible to establish a contact within the Brotherhood itself.”
That raised Nate’s eyebrow. The Brotherhood of Steel had been nigh-impenetrable to US intelligence services for decades. A paranoid mentality and culture of semi-religious indoctrination mixed with a recruitment policy in which members only joined from birth or were selected from childhood had made what happened in the fortress-cities and bunker-networks of the Midwest and Rockies opaque. The NCR had been comparatively easier - greased palms were adept at smoothing the passage of US agents, and “escapees” from US territory were child’s play to insert (and helpful with aspects of Operation Pied Piper). But still, penetration of the NCR remained low. Previous administrations had put HUMINT at a low priority compared to other aspects of spycraft.
“Go ahead, but stay cautious,” Nate instructed. “I wouldn’t count our chickens before they’re hatched.”
She nodded in understanding.
“General Massey,” Nate continued. “Is Bradley-Hercules ready for the planned strikes in the midwest?”
He nodded, and Nate smiled, then sighed. Orbital strikes against the NCR forces right now were out of the question. They were simply too dispersed for them to do any effective level of damage - and with their general’s location yet unclear a decapitation was unworkable. He’d wait for an opportunity to do some real damage first. Fortunately General Autumn would know the right time and place to attack for maximum effectiveness. It was part of the reason he had been put in control of US military operations - the man just had a knack for finding opportunities.
He then turned to Davison. The Secretary of State had been brought in here to discuss the wider ramifications of the war - especially the submarine attacks which were cutting into supplies of rubber (along with chocolate, coffee, tropical wood, and food products) from Brazil and troops from Europe, which had already drawn diplomatic complaints from the Empire of Brazil that their vessels were being insufficiently protected. Standard aerial patrols were proving ineffective at locating the enemy in the great expanses of the Atlantic ocean - they were avoiding USN ships though, which indicated they thought they were at risk if found out.
“Mr. Secretary,” he said. “What’s the word from Mexico?”
“The Imperial ministers have sent protests against our occupation of Veracruz. They’re angry but impotent - they know they wouldn’t last in a full blown bout with us and their Emperor has already made their acceptance of the Rio Grande annexation a fait accompli. Further south, we have good reason to believe Gran Colombia is funnelling more troops to the NCR. Emboldened by the sinking of USS Richardson, I believe.”
“Can we do anything?”
It was a rhetorical question. While a full blown invasion and occupation of Gran Colombia would be a mistake, it was a general matter of agreement amongst the Cabinet that the impertinent Colombians needed to be sent a proper message of their place in the pecking order. Enough US resources had already been tied up in disciplining the Mexicans, though, and the country could ill afford more distractions.
“I’ve given instructions to our man in Rio de Janeiro to indicate that we wouldn’t be displeased should Brazil try to take Guyana and adjust their northern border to the Orinoco,” Davison reported, then turned to look at Fairchild. “ I’m sure they’d be overjoyed too if a few satellite photos of Gran Colombian forts and military maneuvers happened to get sent their way.”
She grinned and nodded in response.
“The Bahama and Virgin Islands territories are pushing for Statehood,” Richardson commented, looking at Nate. “You want me to do anything in Congress?”
“Let sleeping dogs lie,” Nate replied. “Congress is going to welcome them in - it doesn’t do anything but make the southern islands more securely ours and tie them more closely to the mainland. We’ve had our government working on as normal through worse than this.”
That was the final substantive decision made.
-*-
REPORT ON MISSILE DEVELOPMENT
FROM: Director Reed Thomas, Advanced Projects Research Division, Department of War
TO: Sebastian G. McCain, Secretary of War
DATE: 02/23/2332
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: To protect the ploughshare, keep the sword in reach.
Development of new and advanced missiles has reached an upswing with our budget increases. Compatibility with existing platforms is, naturally, something we have been sought to keep in mind as we (especially) seek to develop faster missiles to more effectively evade laser AA systems.
AGM-280 RARW (Rapid Aerial Response Weapon)
Hypersonic air-launched GPS-guided AGM, using fusion ram propulsion system. Capable of up to Mach 5 speeds, can carry a variety of warheads such as high-ex, micro-nuclear, chemical, thermobaric, plasma, incendiary, cluster, etc. depending on mission profile. Can be used by VH-01/VB-03, F-97, B-120 platforms. Tests have gone well and production is moving forward rapidly; field deployment should begin by mid-2332.
LAM-120 “Eagle Strike”
Replacement for LAM-90 “Lightning Strike”. Hypersonic cruise missile, using fusion ramjet propulsion, Mach 5 maximum speed. Terrain contour matching capabilities improve manoeuvrability; can alter speed in flight to suit local conditions; digital area correlation and GPS serve to ensure higher accuracy than LAM-90, radar homing module allows for antiship use, target can be altered while missile is in flight. Can be deployed from sea- and land-based platforms. Can hold nuclear, plasma, thermobaric, cluster, high-ex etc. warheads. Range 1700 miles. Field deployment should begin by late 2332.
MGM-360 “Lightning Bolt”
Small ICBM intended for use in the nuclear forces. 46 feet long, 3ft 10 inch diameter. Carries 500kt fusion warhead. Uses fusion propulsion - range 8,000 miles. Uses mix of inertial and GPS guidance system -250 ft CEP. Can be easily carried in specially-designed trucks, enabling complete second strike capability; small size also makes construction more cost-effective and quicker, enabling rapid expansion of nuclear capability. Testing somewhat problematic; we expect to begin replacing ICBMs and nuclear cruise missiles in use already by late 2333.
==*==
16:00 CST, 23 February 2332
North of Reynosa
“We’re going west to Cali, to Cali, to Cali,
We’re going west to Cali, to fight for the dear old flag,
And should we die in Cali, in Cali, in Cali,
And should we die in Cali, we’ll die for the dear old flag.”
The Dornan transport’s radio was tuned to Federal Radio Network, putting out a patriotic song as a group of power-armoured soldiers, their armour coloured in US woodland pattern, looked from the top of the hill. Most were holding sentry in various directions, but one in particular - with a sergeant’s rank markings on his right pauldron - was standing stock still, a metal statue among men in armour.
Staff Sergeant Walker woke up with a start as his armour’s alarm systems blared up, a loud shriek that stabbed his ears. A moment of confusion and pain at the shrill siren overwhelmed him, then he disengaged the leg-locks and gingerly took a step forward, reaching out to take his Peacemaker from its maglocked position on his thigh, before scanning the horizon For a moment he started again as auto-injectors dispensed their payloads of wakeup chems.. Volume was low - that at least was good. He yawned. Chems could only do so much, and he’d been reduced to these listless 30-minute cat naps the past few days. Man, he thought, this feels almost like studying for SAT again. He chuckled at the thought, and thanked his stars helmet radio and speakers were turned off.
“Our flag shall fly o’er Cali, o’er Cali, o’er Cali,
“Our flag shall fly o’er Cali, with red and white and blue,
We’ll never give up Cali, our Cali, our Cali,
We’ll never give up till Cali sings Yankee-doodle-doo-”
The song abruptly stopped. The driver must have gotten bored - Walker could easily guess why. He’d sung a dozen of those types of songs in Elementary, and they got samey after a while. Could still recite it from memory though, with “Old Glory”, “Hail America”, “Yankee Doodle”, “This Land Is Our Land”, and a couple of others from his schooldays.
“How is it, Boss?” Ray nervously asked, drawl still recognisable through his helmet speaker as ever. .
“Fine,” Walker said, turning on his speaker. .
“Not a damncali in sight, boss, but still …”
“I know,” Walker replied. He felt like he could cut the air with a knife. “How’re the songs going?”
“Writing’s going pretty well, sir. Ain’t much else to do here as we wait for the Calis to come at us.”
He checked and saw Rita (by the stencilled name on the side of her helm) looking in on them. Even through the duraframe and laserproofed glass he could sense the girl was smiling at Ray. She always liked to hear his songs, but he was still having a crush on the singer, that Rasmussen lady. Like he’ll ever get a shot at her, he mused, and turned back to scanning the horizon.
Nothing visible, even from this vantage. The rise they were on was a shallow-sloped hill whose peak was a mere thirty feet above sea level, but in this country that made it the rough equivalent of Mt. McKinley. Sighing, he activated the zoom function on his HUD and scanned the sky - he saw one or two pairs of swooping NCR and US fighters, soaring on wings of fusion fire as they struggled for supremacy over the air. Despite everything he knew, part of him still worried that it was his girl up there. Then the music came back, another channel - probably the hymnal on the UAC radio, by the sound of the song.
“We read in our newspapers, hear on the radio;
We’re fighting ‘gainst the rebels, our boys are called to go;
To face the enemy as they come towards the line,
God, please preserve America in this troubled time!”
He looked round, saw the rest of his men come to and get prepped for the day. It was an unpleasant sensation at first as the chems wore off and tiredness crashed down back over him, then his body got used to it and with a deep breath he set to check out the APC’s inventory. Ammo, good; spare armour plates; decent; explosives, good; food, decent. He looked over his personal effects, saw his journal there. Most of the really personal stuff for his boys was back at base, but he’d kept it with him. The last entry was Feb. 21. The past few days he’d been too tired to write a damned word.
“Now, can we face another loss to raze our country dear,
And leave us lost in misery and pain and dread and fear?
Our hearts still bleed all night and day for our boys out on the line,
God, please preserve America in this troubled time!”
He looked again at the photo Arlene had given him on the Fourth last year, just before they parted, wearing the electric blue dress she'd danced with him at prom in. He could see her in it; the bright grey eyes, the red lips, the gold hair, the … everything. Sometimes when he looked at it he felt he could almost hear her voice. When he got rotated away from the front, he’d already promised himself to take leave and meet her in DC.
"God tells us in His Bible to pray all day and night;
We do not know the hour the enemy will strike;
If we'll be faithful to Him, no matter what the sign,
God shall preserve America in this troubled time!"
But before any chance for that came they would have a long couple of weeks ahead, Walker knew well. He sighed and listened to the hymn's final chorus.
"Now, people, please start praying, like we've never prayed before,
We need the grace of God to save us through this war,
Give us victory in the wasteland and save our boys so fine,
God, please preserve America in this troubled time!"
-*-
Sixty miles due south, in the small city of Reynosa, General Christine Curling considered the situation. The rebels were pushing south and south-east in a clear pattern - they intended to cut the 55th off from US forces and retreat by sea, then crush it in its pocket and presumably turn round to hit Houston or Dallas. She felt a bit energised by that, knowing already the basics of the enemy plan - and much more worried. There was little she could do right now but concentrate her troops in the area from Laredo to Corpus Christi, prep for a large-scale counter-attack when the enemy got close enough, and hope the other forces in the area managed to support her. She looked out the window a moment at the central square - a lush park on the other side of which was the Governor’s Palace. Nearby was a foreboding concrete structure that served as a city jail - right now the Emperor and his prince were being held there until a ship could be found to return him to Mexico City at all due haste.
Right now, Christine was talking to General Scott Langley, one of the Rian commanders who had fought a guerilla war against the Imperial Mexicans after the defeat at La Sierrita. Langley was one of Rio’s large minority of Americanos - descendants of the refugees and soldiers who had gone to ground in Rio after the atomic war. Making up some 35 to 45 percent of the population according to her briefings, their presence made Rio seem quite a bit familiar - and they still loved the land of their origin. When Old Glory had gone up at the new territorial Capitol, a crowd of them had spontaneously gathered to cheer. The RRG had already been practically half-American for centuries, so the annexation in that light was simply the manifestation of destiny. America's calling all her lost children home, she mused. Shame quite a few would rather stay in the darkness outside.
She ran through her worries again, not letting them show on her face. The Latin plurality were decidedly less warm on joining the USA - she worried about that. There were fringe independence movements in Cuba, Quebec and Canada in general - closely watched by the FBI, but allowed to peacefully speak out to what few people would listen to them. Still, every so often some idiots thought bombing a shopping mall or kidnapping an official would get the USA to give up and go home - most of these plots were informed on and cut short in the planning stages. More seriously, some of these separatists had tried their hand at spying for the NCR over the decades - US counter-intelligence, of course, had long turned the NCR’s spy rings - but still, in a newly-annexed territory where FBI personnel weren’t yet on the ground they could still penetrate.
General Esteban Felipez, another Rian commander who had gone to ground after the defeat, was rumoured to have resurfaced at Monterrey and to be gathering forces while refusing to contact Governor Alvarez. She had an unpleasant feeling about it, but that situation would have to wait. There were more serious concerns right now.
The Mexicans thankfully were not one of them. The vast majority of them had been either killed in battle or captured and were already passing south after being disarmed - less an army than a long, long procession of broken men in tattered, dirty uniforms, some on horseback, travelling across the countryside to the jungles and mountains that blocked the path to Imperial territory. Yet others had fallen to banditry as the Mexican armies collapsed and were currently raiding across southern Texas. They were an issue for later.
The Rian man’s tanned skin and light brown hair showed a scarred look, Christine thought. Langley had certainly lived a rough life. At 40 he looked some ten years older - a brutal example of the harshness of wasteland living.
“We can contribute some 15,000,” Langley said. “With the 5,000 National Guard troops that you have here, that makes 20,000.”
“Could you raise any more?” Christine asked.
“We’re still gathering soldiers up from the countryside, but nobody’s going to the recruitment stations. people of Rio are sick of-”
“We’ve talked about this before. Whether you want it or not, war is coming to you. Do you think the Californians will look on your alignment with us favourably?”
“ Alvarez-,” she continued, pointing across the street to the Governor’s Palace, where the reinstalled leader of Rio was busy with his own work. “Can talk to them about how he did what he had to, but they won’t see it that way. They’ve gone so far as to punish the children of US officials in the past, and arrest US soldiers who defected to them. Do you think they’ll greet his protestations that he had no choice with anything other than contempt? You’d better do your best to prepare for their invasion, if you really care about defending this country.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Langley said. “I’m gathering what’s left of our forces as much as possible. We’re already moving to form a defence line between Laredo and the Mountains.”
“Very well,” Christine replied. “Don’t forget it’s your neck on the line as well should the rebels win. We’ll hang together or we’ll hang separately.”
Langley nodded, leaving the room, and General Curling began preparing for the counter-attack. The NCR was bearing down and she’d have to outlast their storm.
==*==
12:00 CST, 24 February 2332
Crystal City, Texas
Sergeant Jim Fields gritted his teeth and loaded another MFC into his laser RCW before firing in the general direction of a squad of Enclave soldiers in their dreaded power-armour as he cautiously looked out from behind the slagged shell of an NCR APC. The town of Crystal City had become a battlefield between NCR forces and Enclave mechanised troops of what seemed to be one of their armoured units. Smoking burned-out tanks of both sides littered the town’s main street - more Enclave vehicles than Californian ones. Most of the ones not destroyed had fallen back.
One of the remaining Custer tanks defiantly fired its fusion cannon into what had been a pre-War suburban home as its gatling laser levied out a never-ending stream of suppressive fire down the street, pausing briefly only to cool down. A whole chunk of the building’s side instantly ceased to exist, followed by the rest of its wooden construction flashing to fire even as it collapsed. The AT team who’d been there were gone - but just as the Custer took out one target, a Bobcat weaved out from behind a building to its flank and lashed out with a bright orange laser beam, two shots in rapid succession, breaking through the armour tiles that ate up missiles like nothing and scoring the hull. Before the Custer’s turret could track to lash out again with its fusion beam the NCR vehicle had already gone.
A Cougar MBT came round from another angle, fired its own laser weapon. With an emerald-green flash it broke right through the Custer’s armour tiles and the Enclave super-alloy underneath, opening up the side of the tank like a knife cutting through steak . The crew bailed, running to the protection of their power-armoured compatriots as they let off disciplined bursts of fire with their laser carbines. Fields killed one with his RCW, but three others got away. Damn. The tank went up in a fireball after, Enclave self-destructs overloading its reactor and turning it to a husk.
Fields ducked just in time to avoid a burst of plasma rounds from the Enclave power troopers. He felt the heat as they moved just above where his head had been even through his helmet. He’d seen a man today who’d been similarly grazed, no helmet, and had his hair burned out completely.
He kept up firing as the Enclave forces fell back. The Bobcats pursued with all due haste, burning rubber in their eagerness to keep up contact with the old enemy. He ran past the corpse of an enemy light tank that had run foul of NCR gauss rifles to take position on the roof of a clinic on the southern fringe of the town.with his squad. There wasn’t much he could do now but watch the battle unfold.
It was no real contest.
The enemy Custers, with proper infantry support, clear fields of fire, and now able to properly support each other; massacred the thin-skinned vehicles as they closed the distance through the shrub and bush country. It was no contest - one Bobcat after another went up in a brilliant burst of flame, with one or two getting off pot shots which went nowhere near the remaining Enclave tanks. The CO must be a damn fool, Fields mused. Those Bobcats were so effective and now he spends them like this. If this goes on …
But still, they’d won. While their foes had taken many losses to their mobile anti-armour, the Enclave battalion that had been in this town could no longer entertain the thought of counter-attack
A battalion of ours, a battalion of theirs … and we won!
But still … he was concerned. They’d taken a bunch of prisoners at San Antonio, and one of them … after he had struck in the face with his whip one of his squadmates who’d tried to feel her up, she’d thanked him and opened up about herself. Talked about her Dad being a doctor in a small town in Virginia, just like his own was. Talked about going to Church just like he did … even had a little cross necklace. That worried him, and he didn’t know if she was lying or had fake memories or … it had to be. No way was the Enclave some kind of normal society … right? But still, that little worm of doubt was … he took a deep breath. Whatever they were like back home, out here they wanted to mess with the NCR, and that made them enemies.
13:30 CST, 20 February 2332
Fort Worth, Texas
“There’s a glad tomorrow comin’ and we know it won’t be long,
‘Till our force has won the battle and come home so bold and strong,
But until we win the victory many soldier boys will die,
Still Old Glory stands for freedom and we’ll fight to hold her high,”
Dean Hart had always been a good kid. Pa had always done his best to raise him right, make sure his son got good grades and behaved well. He’d passed a couple of years back, two years before the war. Dean’d been fifteen then and he remembered bitterly how rough it had been. Ma’s eyesight was starting to fail and she couldn’t work the store by herself and he had three younger brothers to try and lead. And there were always various varmints - rattlers, super-ants, radscorps and so on. Most of them he could take down with one or two shots from a hunting rifle - he was a pretty good shot. A year and a half ago, just before all the trouble started, there’d been a hog broke into the outskirts of the town, near where he lived.
He’d been so scared, but Ma had given him the key to a case in the attic and in there there’d been an assault rifle from Dad’s old Army days. He’d taken it out and given that hog a full clip between the eyes. Critter was too stupid to know it should die though, and it kept on rushing at him - he’d just made the thing angry. So, as it was rushing on with its razor-sharp tusks the size of a man’s forearm, 600 pounds of fat and muscle, kevlar-grade skin and all bearing down on him, he’d hastily loaded another clip and fired full pelt, letting out a prayer to God and Jesus to spare him that beast’s rancour. One of his wildly-fired shots had hit in the eye and it had come to a stop just at his feet. God for sure makes us Texas kids tough … guess we have to be in a world like this.
“There’ll be smoke on the water, on the land and the sea
When our army and navy overtakes the enemy,
There’ll be smoke on the mountains like there never was before,
And the great rebel nation will go down forevermore,”
Dean took a deep breath as the music kept piping from the recruitment hall, already becoming a kinda background noise to him. This was a bigger thing too than killing that hog. But he had to do this. He’d seen it on the nightly news, what the Calis had done. Damncalis, he was starting to think of ‘em as. He’d heard American soldiers call them that moving through after the big battle around Dallas. Dean had kept his head down for that and the months of fighting before. He wasn’t one to mess with power-armoured soldiers, plus the kids and Ma had needed looking after. But after what they’d done to the Alamo ...
The queue was long and he for sure wasn’t the only one in it, so Dean idled himself looking at the posters on the wall of the building as it slowly moved. There was one with an older man looking at his kids, as they accusingly looked at him. “WHAT DID YOU DO IN THE WAR, DADDY?” ran the question. Another showed kids under the menacing shadow of a bear - “DON’T LET IT TOUCH THEM! JOIN THE US ARMY”. And yet another … showed old Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie looking on approvingly at soldiers in US armour fighting an unseen foe, firing in all directions against a darkening sky.” AMERICANS WILL NEVER SURRENDER TO THE ENEMIES OF FREEDOM!”
He turned his eyes away and back to the queue. What the Calis had done couldn’t be forgiven. They were already saying on their own news radio that the Americans were at fault somehow, but Dean didn’t trust ‘em. When the Americans were fighting in Dallas they’d sent a whole battalion of troops to protect the old memorial to Kennedy. They wouldn't do a thing to the Alamo.
“... We don’t always follow with it, but we know what’s right and wrong …”
He’d gone round that evening, talked to his old class. They all agreed they needed to do something to make the Calis regret it and even a number of the girls had decided to sign up with the Americans. One of them had been his girl - he’d brought her round this morning to the city, signed everything all proper with a justice of the peace. Not how he’d wanted it to happen, but he hoped they’d let them stay together if they were married. The queue kept on moving, and soon he found he was taking his first step into a US military recruitment station. Ice clenched around his heart, but he kept it up right to the desk. He’d made a promise to all of his friends and he wouldn’t chicken out. The lobby was crowded, and filled with faces; he recognised some as his classmates and smiled politely when he met their eyes, but many more were strangers to him.
Signing his name on the dotted line and taking the oath almost felt like a formality after it was done with. He knew who he was with now. That was the biggest relief of all.
05:30 CST, 22 February 2332
Veracruz, Mexico
Captain Lionel Barrett looked over Veracruz one last time under the steel-blue sky of just before dawn as he got into the VB-03 transport, freshly painted in jungle-pattern camo in preparation for Operation Filibuster. Vee-bird transports - both the new craft and the older models - were already taking off and heading northeast across the sea of adobe-walled, red-tiled houses as Dornan IFVs and Lejeune light tanks swam back to the amphibious ships that had sent them ashore. The city’s defenders had not put up much resistance to the Marines, as landings and air assaults backed by the firepower of the Caribbean Fleet had stormed the local beaches, cut off the roads leading to the city, and swept into it from the north from just after dark on the 18th to mid-afternoon on the 19th. The dark shapes of factories and railhouses on the city’s outskirts were still silhouetted against the mountains on the distant horizon.
In desperation and terror at the overwhelming force of PA soldiers encased in the US military’s toughest suits, T-90 Hellfire (what better for us Devil Dogs?, Barrett sometimes mused), the Mexican soldiers garrisoning the city had fled into the surrounding fields, rapidly establishing a crude perimeter of trench lines around it as if to contain an enemy beachhead. Perhaps they were planning a counter-attack, one they had little to no chance of actually pulling off. Be that as it may, they would find no enemies to attack when they launched their strike. The Fifth Marine Division’s job was done here in Veracruz.
The Mexican army had been crushed in the north, and in the south a message had been sent to the Imperial government in letters carved out by USMC Peacemaker rifles. The US military could do as it pleased in Mexico. That a full-scale invasion had not taken place was a matter of choice, not of ability. Barrett sighed. Teach them a lesson and leave, he mused. Dunno if that’ll just make them angry or not. But more important things than this punitive expedition were taking place to the north. The Calis had taken San Antonio and Austin, forcing Governor Armstead to flee the city and putting the 55th Corps’ back against the Rio Grande. The renegade Texan forces who were guarding the NCR army’s flank against the remaining US forces in the region had held out against the probes that had been launched so far.
Interesting, Barrett thought, Filibuster’s probably gonna be delayed a month or two. Good luck for the Calis, I have to say.
-*-
Several hundred miles to the north, the small city of Corpus Christi was a whirlwind of activity. Ships, vertibirds, and cargo planes were unloading troops by the hundreds every hour; National Guard, Marines, German and British infantry clad in olive-green and beige tan respectively. General Theodore A. Dornan looked over the reports with frustration. The Fifth would take at least a day to arrive here and the Sixth and Eighth were still being redeployed from the Midwest, in two days at least - all he had right now was the Seventh Division, part of the Second Marine Expeditionary Force.
He couldn't help but let out a chuckle as he worked, taking a moment to run a finger through the strands of grey already in his hair - this was the very building where the Texans and Rians had tried to broker peace between the Rebs and Uncle Sam. As if talking and conferencing and dealmaking could solve the greatest political confrontation that had ever been seen on the continent. There’d been secession before, true, but the new gang of rebels weren’t satisfied with that. They wanted to destroy the Federal Government, probably the State and Commonwealth governments too and … then what? Let anarchy reign to replace what had been the most effective system of government ever devised? It has to be sheer nihilism that’s driving them, he mused. Sheer desire to destroy us for some unknowable Godforsaken reason.
Dornan could sympathise with the enemy at the front though. He’d seen the reports from the POW camps, the questionnaires and interrogation files. Most of the Reb soldiers said they were fighting to defend their country. A fair few believed they were “liberating” the USA, and had reacted with confusion and even denial on being shown evidence of a democratic society. A few, most from Norcal, showed nothing but hatred and anger.
He sighed again and looked round the office at the messily-detailed paper folders and the computer’s disorganised collection of files displaying e-mails and reports from across the battlespace. The US Marines were organised into twelve divisions of ten thousand under the banner of three Marine Expeditionary Forces, a hundred and twenty thousand that made up America’s best fighting men and women. Usually up to this war they’d been deployed in small, bite-sized formations - a regiment here and there to take a beach or storm an objective. Now whole Divisions and Expeditionary Forces were being deployed in numbers to fulfil High Command’s strategic goals.
Dornan couldn’t help but find that exasperating, but he knew why. The situation at St. Louis had been so bad the 2nd MEF had been deployed to help break the siege, and now it was still somewhat out of position as the enemy threw forward a fresh offensive. He’d disagreed with the decision to throw a full Division at Veracruz - a Regiment, he felt, would have been enough to chasten the Mexicans - but orders were orders, and now he was in this mess. If everything goes badly, High Command may have no troops available for Filibuster, he grimly mused. What made this damn fool situation even worse was that his own neck was now on the line because of their games.
Which was why he was frantically recollecting his Expeditionary Force and gathering other forces that had been assigned to the area. The Marines didn’t sit back and hunker down in bunkers and trenches like Army folks did at O’Hare. When they were attacked, Devil Dogs went out to meet the enemy. Together with co-ordinated support from the 55th and 45th Corps, along with the other US Army units in Texas, he had a feeling he, together with General Granite’s forces, could smash the NCR salient, maybe even lop off it’s head completely and crush the encircled remnants. A risky move, but well worth the payoff if I can make it work.
He gritted his teeth. His great-grandpa hadn’t fallen at Navarro for nothing. Sitting here and waiting to die was no option. Ain’t nothing stops no Marine!. That’d been what his drill instructor had yelled at him the first day at Camp Lejeune, and by God he was going to live up to it.
==*==
14:00 EST, 22 February 2332
The White House, Washington DC
Another day, another cabinet meeting. It had been decades since Nate’s introduction to the world of high-stakes Presidential politics, as Secretary of War from 2293 to 2302, but somehow he had never gotten quite used to it. They were all there of course - Vice President Richardson at his right hand, McCain at his left, then following on from there a number of other officials and top military personnel.
He ‘d received the report from General Autumn today of course - the NCR had advanced rapidly over Texas in the past few days, almost to the coast. The drive southward had stalled though, as it seemed elements of their forces were busy re-orienting to strike south-west towards the river that had for many centuries served as the USA’s southern border while others struck south to cut off their retreat by land. A hundred and fifty thousand enemy soldiers, with a Corps and a half of Texans watching their eastern flank backed by another twenty thousand NCR troopers. They were playing for keeps here. The skies above central Texas were still too contested to launch a significant air strike, though the air bases at Artemisa, Lake Charles and Houston were keeping the east and south of the state under US aerial control.
Governor Armstead had evacuated to Houston - it was imperative that she not be seen to flee Texas.
Richardson looked especially disconcerted about the news.
“Mr. President,” he began, tousling his sandy-blond hair, sweating. “As I’ve argued before, I’d suggest enacting selective service in response to the present situation.”
Nate shrugged. The draft had last been used during the war with China - those ten years of struggle against Red domination that had ended with the communists destroyed but left the nation shattered for centuries, to the point that its very survival for some time had been an open question. Technically, conscription had been a possibility in the early days of reclamation - but Autumn had chosen not to enact it. The benefits of joining the US military had been impossible to resist for wastelanders in those days, and he had not wanted the US government seen as slavers.
“No, Leo,” he sighed. “The time isn't right. I’ll do that if I have to, but only when it’s necessary. Now, as for the situation in the midwest?”
“Cantrell reports her forces are still prepping for the big push west,” McCain explained. “We’ve shored up our position in Missouri and established a defence line along I-44. Almost all of Oklahoma has fallen in with us as well; we have the whole eastern half of the State under US authority, and the old Texan governor has sworn his loyalty oath to the Federal Government.”
“And the North?”
“Chase will launch his strike at Duluth in two or so days. A pincer from Minneapolis and Thunder Bay, just to shore up his position while he gets the main attack ready in three weeks.”
Nate nodded enthusiastically. Everything in those theatres was according to plan. The fly in the ointment was Texas. Not just because of the general push westward and the fact that Texas was the only thing between the US and California’s front door - but because until that problem was resolved Filibuster and everything that built on it - Newlands, Mameluke, Barbary and other code-named operations - were off the table. Travis’ administration had calculated that a million soldiers could be gotten out of Texas if need be too - though that itself was overly optimistic, even a quarter of that was equal to an additional field Army and more.
He looked over to Martha Fairchild. The CIA Director looked stern and icy, as ever - even her slenderness was tightly-wound, a lioness ready to pounce. The damn lady’s inscrutable, he thought. It was a quality he wouldn’t appreciate if he wasn’t already assured of her loyalty.
“We have significant penetration of the Brotherhood Militia, and a loose network of insurgents prepared to rise up at my signal. I also think it may be possible to establish a contact within the Brotherhood itself.”
That raised Nate’s eyebrow. The Brotherhood of Steel had been nigh-impenetrable to US intelligence services for decades. A paranoid mentality and culture of semi-religious indoctrination mixed with a recruitment policy in which members only joined from birth or were selected from childhood had made what happened in the fortress-cities and bunker-networks of the Midwest and Rockies opaque. The NCR had been comparatively easier - greased palms were adept at smoothing the passage of US agents, and “escapees” from US territory were child’s play to insert (and helpful with aspects of Operation Pied Piper). But still, penetration of the NCR remained low. Previous administrations had put HUMINT at a low priority compared to other aspects of spycraft.
“Go ahead, but stay cautious,” Nate instructed. “I wouldn’t count our chickens before they’re hatched.”
She nodded in understanding.
“General Massey,” Nate continued. “Is Bradley-Hercules ready for the planned strikes in the midwest?”
He nodded, and Nate smiled, then sighed. Orbital strikes against the NCR forces right now were out of the question. They were simply too dispersed for them to do any effective level of damage - and with their general’s location yet unclear a decapitation was unworkable. He’d wait for an opportunity to do some real damage first. Fortunately General Autumn would know the right time and place to attack for maximum effectiveness. It was part of the reason he had been put in control of US military operations - the man just had a knack for finding opportunities.
He then turned to Davison. The Secretary of State had been brought in here to discuss the wider ramifications of the war - especially the submarine attacks which were cutting into supplies of rubber (along with chocolate, coffee, tropical wood, and food products) from Brazil and troops from Europe, which had already drawn diplomatic complaints from the Empire of Brazil that their vessels were being insufficiently protected. Standard aerial patrols were proving ineffective at locating the enemy in the great expanses of the Atlantic ocean - they were avoiding USN ships though, which indicated they thought they were at risk if found out.
“Mr. Secretary,” he said. “What’s the word from Mexico?”
“The Imperial ministers have sent protests against our occupation of Veracruz. They’re angry but impotent - they know they wouldn’t last in a full blown bout with us and their Emperor has already made their acceptance of the Rio Grande annexation a fait accompli. Further south, we have good reason to believe Gran Colombia is funnelling more troops to the NCR. Emboldened by the sinking of USS Richardson, I believe.”
“Can we do anything?”
It was a rhetorical question. While a full blown invasion and occupation of Gran Colombia would be a mistake, it was a general matter of agreement amongst the Cabinet that the impertinent Colombians needed to be sent a proper message of their place in the pecking order. Enough US resources had already been tied up in disciplining the Mexicans, though, and the country could ill afford more distractions.
“I’ve given instructions to our man in Rio de Janeiro to indicate that we wouldn’t be displeased should Brazil try to take Guyana and adjust their northern border to the Orinoco,” Davison reported, then turned to look at Fairchild. “ I’m sure they’d be overjoyed too if a few satellite photos of Gran Colombian forts and military maneuvers happened to get sent their way.”
She grinned and nodded in response.
“The Bahama and Virgin Islands territories are pushing for Statehood,” Richardson commented, looking at Nate. “You want me to do anything in Congress?”
“Let sleeping dogs lie,” Nate replied. “Congress is going to welcome them in - it doesn’t do anything but make the southern islands more securely ours and tie them more closely to the mainland. We’ve had our government working on as normal through worse than this.”
That was the final substantive decision made.
-*-
REPORT ON MISSILE DEVELOPMENT
FROM: Director Reed Thomas, Advanced Projects Research Division, Department of War
TO: Sebastian G. McCain, Secretary of War
DATE: 02/23/2332
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: To protect the ploughshare, keep the sword in reach.
Development of new and advanced missiles has reached an upswing with our budget increases. Compatibility with existing platforms is, naturally, something we have been sought to keep in mind as we (especially) seek to develop faster missiles to more effectively evade laser AA systems.
AGM-280 RARW (Rapid Aerial Response Weapon)
Hypersonic air-launched GPS-guided AGM, using fusion ram propulsion system. Capable of up to Mach 5 speeds, can carry a variety of warheads such as high-ex, micro-nuclear, chemical, thermobaric, plasma, incendiary, cluster, etc. depending on mission profile. Can be used by VH-01/VB-03, F-97, B-120 platforms. Tests have gone well and production is moving forward rapidly; field deployment should begin by mid-2332.
LAM-120 “Eagle Strike”
Replacement for LAM-90 “Lightning Strike”. Hypersonic cruise missile, using fusion ramjet propulsion, Mach 5 maximum speed. Terrain contour matching capabilities improve manoeuvrability; can alter speed in flight to suit local conditions; digital area correlation and GPS serve to ensure higher accuracy than LAM-90, radar homing module allows for antiship use, target can be altered while missile is in flight. Can be deployed from sea- and land-based platforms. Can hold nuclear, plasma, thermobaric, cluster, high-ex etc. warheads. Range 1700 miles. Field deployment should begin by late 2332.
MGM-360 “Lightning Bolt”
Small ICBM intended for use in the nuclear forces. 46 feet long, 3ft 10 inch diameter. Carries 500kt fusion warhead. Uses fusion propulsion - range 8,000 miles. Uses mix of inertial and GPS guidance system -250 ft CEP. Can be easily carried in specially-designed trucks, enabling complete second strike capability; small size also makes construction more cost-effective and quicker, enabling rapid expansion of nuclear capability. Testing somewhat problematic; we expect to begin replacing ICBMs and nuclear cruise missiles in use already by late 2333.
==*==
16:00 CST, 23 February 2332
North of Reynosa
“We’re going west to Cali, to Cali, to Cali,
We’re going west to Cali, to fight for the dear old flag,
And should we die in Cali, in Cali, in Cali,
And should we die in Cali, we’ll die for the dear old flag.”
The Dornan transport’s radio was tuned to Federal Radio Network, putting out a patriotic song as a group of power-armoured soldiers, their armour coloured in US woodland pattern, looked from the top of the hill. Most were holding sentry in various directions, but one in particular - with a sergeant’s rank markings on his right pauldron - was standing stock still, a metal statue among men in armour.
Staff Sergeant Walker woke up with a start as his armour’s alarm systems blared up, a loud shriek that stabbed his ears. A moment of confusion and pain at the shrill siren overwhelmed him, then he disengaged the leg-locks and gingerly took a step forward, reaching out to take his Peacemaker from its maglocked position on his thigh, before scanning the horizon For a moment he started again as auto-injectors dispensed their payloads of wakeup chems.. Volume was low - that at least was good. He yawned. Chems could only do so much, and he’d been reduced to these listless 30-minute cat naps the past few days. Man, he thought, this feels almost like studying for SAT again. He chuckled at the thought, and thanked his stars helmet radio and speakers were turned off.
“Our flag shall fly o’er Cali, o’er Cali, o’er Cali,
“Our flag shall fly o’er Cali, with red and white and blue,
We’ll never give up Cali, our Cali, our Cali,
We’ll never give up till Cali sings Yankee-doodle-doo-”
The song abruptly stopped. The driver must have gotten bored - Walker could easily guess why. He’d sung a dozen of those types of songs in Elementary, and they got samey after a while. Could still recite it from memory though, with “Old Glory”, “Hail America”, “Yankee Doodle”, “This Land Is Our Land”, and a couple of others from his schooldays.
“How is it, Boss?” Ray nervously asked, drawl still recognisable through his helmet speaker as ever. .
“Fine,” Walker said, turning on his speaker. .
“Not a damncali in sight, boss, but still …”
“I know,” Walker replied. He felt like he could cut the air with a knife. “How’re the songs going?”
“Writing’s going pretty well, sir. Ain’t much else to do here as we wait for the Calis to come at us.”
He checked and saw Rita (by the stencilled name on the side of her helm) looking in on them. Even through the duraframe and laserproofed glass he could sense the girl was smiling at Ray. She always liked to hear his songs, but he was still having a crush on the singer, that Rasmussen lady. Like he’ll ever get a shot at her, he mused, and turned back to scanning the horizon.
Nothing visible, even from this vantage. The rise they were on was a shallow-sloped hill whose peak was a mere thirty feet above sea level, but in this country that made it the rough equivalent of Mt. McKinley. Sighing, he activated the zoom function on his HUD and scanned the sky - he saw one or two pairs of swooping NCR and US fighters, soaring on wings of fusion fire as they struggled for supremacy over the air. Despite everything he knew, part of him still worried that it was his girl up there. Then the music came back, another channel - probably the hymnal on the UAC radio, by the sound of the song.
“We read in our newspapers, hear on the radio;
We’re fighting ‘gainst the rebels, our boys are called to go;
To face the enemy as they come towards the line,
God, please preserve America in this troubled time!”
He looked round, saw the rest of his men come to and get prepped for the day. It was an unpleasant sensation at first as the chems wore off and tiredness crashed down back over him, then his body got used to it and with a deep breath he set to check out the APC’s inventory. Ammo, good; spare armour plates; decent; explosives, good; food, decent. He looked over his personal effects, saw his journal there. Most of the really personal stuff for his boys was back at base, but he’d kept it with him. The last entry was Feb. 21. The past few days he’d been too tired to write a damned word.
“Now, can we face another loss to raze our country dear,
And leave us lost in misery and pain and dread and fear?
Our hearts still bleed all night and day for our boys out on the line,
God, please preserve America in this troubled time!”
He looked again at the photo Arlene had given him on the Fourth last year, just before they parted, wearing the electric blue dress she'd danced with him at prom in. He could see her in it; the bright grey eyes, the red lips, the gold hair, the … everything. Sometimes when he looked at it he felt he could almost hear her voice. When he got rotated away from the front, he’d already promised himself to take leave and meet her in DC.
"God tells us in His Bible to pray all day and night;
We do not know the hour the enemy will strike;
If we'll be faithful to Him, no matter what the sign,
God shall preserve America in this troubled time!"
But before any chance for that came they would have a long couple of weeks ahead, Walker knew well. He sighed and listened to the hymn's final chorus.
"Now, people, please start praying, like we've never prayed before,
We need the grace of God to save us through this war,
Give us victory in the wasteland and save our boys so fine,
God, please preserve America in this troubled time!"
-*-
Sixty miles due south, in the small city of Reynosa, General Christine Curling considered the situation. The rebels were pushing south and south-east in a clear pattern - they intended to cut the 55th off from US forces and retreat by sea, then crush it in its pocket and presumably turn round to hit Houston or Dallas. She felt a bit energised by that, knowing already the basics of the enemy plan - and much more worried. There was little she could do right now but concentrate her troops in the area from Laredo to Corpus Christi, prep for a large-scale counter-attack when the enemy got close enough, and hope the other forces in the area managed to support her. She looked out the window a moment at the central square - a lush park on the other side of which was the Governor’s Palace. Nearby was a foreboding concrete structure that served as a city jail - right now the Emperor and his prince were being held there until a ship could be found to return him to Mexico City at all due haste.
Right now, Christine was talking to General Scott Langley, one of the Rian commanders who had fought a guerilla war against the Imperial Mexicans after the defeat at La Sierrita. Langley was one of Rio’s large minority of Americanos - descendants of the refugees and soldiers who had gone to ground in Rio after the atomic war. Making up some 35 to 45 percent of the population according to her briefings, their presence made Rio seem quite a bit familiar - and they still loved the land of their origin. When Old Glory had gone up at the new territorial Capitol, a crowd of them had spontaneously gathered to cheer. The RRG had already been practically half-American for centuries, so the annexation in that light was simply the manifestation of destiny. America's calling all her lost children home, she mused. Shame quite a few would rather stay in the darkness outside.
She ran through her worries again, not letting them show on her face. The Latin plurality were decidedly less warm on joining the USA - she worried about that. There were fringe independence movements in Cuba, Quebec and Canada in general - closely watched by the FBI, but allowed to peacefully speak out to what few people would listen to them. Still, every so often some idiots thought bombing a shopping mall or kidnapping an official would get the USA to give up and go home - most of these plots were informed on and cut short in the planning stages. More seriously, some of these separatists had tried their hand at spying for the NCR over the decades - US counter-intelligence, of course, had long turned the NCR’s spy rings - but still, in a newly-annexed territory where FBI personnel weren’t yet on the ground they could still penetrate.
General Esteban Felipez, another Rian commander who had gone to ground after the defeat, was rumoured to have resurfaced at Monterrey and to be gathering forces while refusing to contact Governor Alvarez. She had an unpleasant feeling about it, but that situation would have to wait. There were more serious concerns right now.
The Mexicans thankfully were not one of them. The vast majority of them had been either killed in battle or captured and were already passing south after being disarmed - less an army than a long, long procession of broken men in tattered, dirty uniforms, some on horseback, travelling across the countryside to the jungles and mountains that blocked the path to Imperial territory. Yet others had fallen to banditry as the Mexican armies collapsed and were currently raiding across southern Texas. They were an issue for later.
The Rian man’s tanned skin and light brown hair showed a scarred look, Christine thought. Langley had certainly lived a rough life. At 40 he looked some ten years older - a brutal example of the harshness of wasteland living.
“We can contribute some 15,000,” Langley said. “With the 5,000 National Guard troops that you have here, that makes 20,000.”
“Could you raise any more?” Christine asked.
“We’re still gathering soldiers up from the countryside, but nobody’s going to the recruitment stations. people of Rio are sick of-”
“We’ve talked about this before. Whether you want it or not, war is coming to you. Do you think the Californians will look on your alignment with us favourably?”
“ Alvarez-,” she continued, pointing across the street to the Governor’s Palace, where the reinstalled leader of Rio was busy with his own work. “Can talk to them about how he did what he had to, but they won’t see it that way. They’ve gone so far as to punish the children of US officials in the past, and arrest US soldiers who defected to them. Do you think they’ll greet his protestations that he had no choice with anything other than contempt? You’d better do your best to prepare for their invasion, if you really care about defending this country.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Langley said. “I’m gathering what’s left of our forces as much as possible. We’re already moving to form a defence line between Laredo and the Mountains.”
“Very well,” Christine replied. “Don’t forget it’s your neck on the line as well should the rebels win. We’ll hang together or we’ll hang separately.”
Langley nodded, leaving the room, and General Curling began preparing for the counter-attack. The NCR was bearing down and she’d have to outlast their storm.
==*==
12:00 CST, 24 February 2332
Crystal City, Texas
Sergeant Jim Fields gritted his teeth and loaded another MFC into his laser RCW before firing in the general direction of a squad of Enclave soldiers in their dreaded power-armour as he cautiously looked out from behind the slagged shell of an NCR APC. The town of Crystal City had become a battlefield between NCR forces and Enclave mechanised troops of what seemed to be one of their armoured units. Smoking burned-out tanks of both sides littered the town’s main street - more Enclave vehicles than Californian ones. Most of the ones not destroyed had fallen back.
One of the remaining Custer tanks defiantly fired its fusion cannon into what had been a pre-War suburban home as its gatling laser levied out a never-ending stream of suppressive fire down the street, pausing briefly only to cool down. A whole chunk of the building’s side instantly ceased to exist, followed by the rest of its wooden construction flashing to fire even as it collapsed. The AT team who’d been there were gone - but just as the Custer took out one target, a Bobcat weaved out from behind a building to its flank and lashed out with a bright orange laser beam, two shots in rapid succession, breaking through the armour tiles that ate up missiles like nothing and scoring the hull. Before the Custer’s turret could track to lash out again with its fusion beam the NCR vehicle had already gone.
A Cougar MBT came round from another angle, fired its own laser weapon. With an emerald-green flash it broke right through the Custer’s armour tiles and the Enclave super-alloy underneath, opening up the side of the tank like a knife cutting through steak . The crew bailed, running to the protection of their power-armoured compatriots as they let off disciplined bursts of fire with their laser carbines. Fields killed one with his RCW, but three others got away. Damn. The tank went up in a fireball after, Enclave self-destructs overloading its reactor and turning it to a husk.
Fields ducked just in time to avoid a burst of plasma rounds from the Enclave power troopers. He felt the heat as they moved just above where his head had been even through his helmet. He’d seen a man today who’d been similarly grazed, no helmet, and had his hair burned out completely.
He kept up firing as the Enclave forces fell back. The Bobcats pursued with all due haste, burning rubber in their eagerness to keep up contact with the old enemy. He ran past the corpse of an enemy light tank that had run foul of NCR gauss rifles to take position on the roof of a clinic on the southern fringe of the town.with his squad. There wasn’t much he could do now but watch the battle unfold.
It was no real contest.
The enemy Custers, with proper infantry support, clear fields of fire, and now able to properly support each other; massacred the thin-skinned vehicles as they closed the distance through the shrub and bush country. It was no contest - one Bobcat after another went up in a brilliant burst of flame, with one or two getting off pot shots which went nowhere near the remaining Enclave tanks. The CO must be a damn fool, Fields mused. Those Bobcats were so effective and now he spends them like this. If this goes on …
But still, they’d won. While their foes had taken many losses to their mobile anti-armour, the Enclave battalion that had been in this town could no longer entertain the thought of counter-attack
A battalion of ours, a battalion of theirs … and we won!
But still … he was concerned. They’d taken a bunch of prisoners at San Antonio, and one of them … after he had struck in the face with his whip one of his squadmates who’d tried to feel her up, she’d thanked him and opened up about herself. Talked about her Dad being a doctor in a small town in Virginia, just like his own was. Talked about going to Church just like he did … even had a little cross necklace. That worried him, and he didn’t know if she was lying or had fake memories or … it had to be. No way was the Enclave some kind of normal society … right? But still, that little worm of doubt was … he took a deep breath. Whatever they were like back home, out here they wanted to mess with the NCR, and that made them enemies.
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TyrantTriumphant
Well-known member
The Brazil situation has turned out just as I predicted. While the NCR's unrestricted submarine warfare has done some damage to their enemies it will probably cost them more in the long run.
It is also unfortunate but not unexpected that both the Enclave and NCR citizens are starting to hate one another as peoples, instead of just hating each other's governments.
Before you had most of them hating the government in Shady Sands or Washington but they didn't hate the other side's people as a whole. After this war is through I wouldn't be surprised if both sides still hate each other two hundred years from now.
It is also unfortunate but not unexpected that both the Enclave and NCR citizens are starting to hate one another as peoples, instead of just hating each other's governments.
Before you had most of them hating the government in Shady Sands or Washington but they didn't hate the other side's people as a whole. After this war is through I wouldn't be surprised if both sides still hate each other two hundred years from now.
SuperHeavy
Well-known member
I would actually slow this design down so that it can use onboard sensors and control surfaces. At Mach 20 these things are basically going in a straight line so if the GPS coordinates are not accurate or the enemy moves and the missile is not updated, you have issues. In other news the Custer design continues to struggle in the more built up areas, not helped by the NCR smartly embracing quick but hard-hitting platforms. I think it will get its time to shine once they break into the flat plains of the interior though.
Navarro
Well-known member
Mach 5 or 10 good?
Yep, they realised fairly quickly that no armour they could make could stand up to being hit with what's basically a beam of raw nuclear fusion and decided to build something that was very fast and as hard-hitting as they could make it (naturally this meant skimping on armour). BTW, the Custers also lacked proper infantry support in that scenario. If there'd been more E-US troops with their plasma rifles, grenade launchers, missile launchers etc. ...
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SuperHeavy
Well-known member
Yeah at that speed it can make some maneuvers without tearing itself apart and not be blinded by a sheath of burning air due to compression heating. A terrifying missile you have created here, with a DU spike for a warhead it could punch through a Iowa main belt.
The Real Lee
Member
It doesn't.
Navarro
Well-known member
It doesn't.
Heh.
Navarro
Well-known member
Battledress used by the Second German Kaiserreich, displaying the typical feldgrau colour used by the First Kaiserreich during the First World War and put back into service today. The design shows a mix of influences; the helmet is a European Army design, the last issued before the collapse of the European Commonwealth into warlordism and factionalism in the early 2060s rendered the fielding of standardised equipment impossible; the armour plating is WW3-era American combat armour, produced for export to allies by American military contractors; the belt is East German in origin.
American dress uniform for enlisted. Minimally ostentatious compared to uniforms for higher-ranking officers, it nevertheless shares common features.
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Paladin Wulfen
Well-known member
Daddy Navarro... I have a big question...
Situation of France and Spain ? Can give us a explanation pls
Situation of France and Spain ? Can give us a explanation pls
Navarro
Well-known member
France, well ... they were the 800Ib gorilla of Europe largely because they were the core of the old EC (no German reunification in FO TL after all) and well ... they got into a war with Germany, UK and E-USA after which they were carved up and lost territory to UK and Germany. Spain is Spain ... largely Catholic semi-Constitutional monarchy, kinda dysfunctional, Catalonia, Basque and Galatia became independent during the collapse of the EC (AKA "Syria, Western European edition w/ bioweapon fun for all the family") but those parts have since been ... reattached.
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Navarro
Well-known member
Actually I'm more thinking towards Stargate if I do that cross. ME would need a centuries-long timeskip and I worry it'd just be another generic "humans w/ out of context tech stomp the Council and the Reapers". SG would be more suited towards an "adventure"-style piece than a war story (at least at first) and I'm kinda looking for something more like AM and AR for the final work.
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Navarro
Well-known member
A 'lil sample from my notes for the next chapter (which is gonna be delayed a bit as I work on making everything consistent and clear in my notes and such, shoulda done that before starting):
| BOS Rank | US Rank |
| Knight | Private |
| Knight-Corporal | Corporal |
| Knight-Sergeant | Sergeant |
| Knight-Captain | Platoon Leader |
| Paladin | Lieutenant |
| Paladin-Sergeant | Captain |
| Paladin-Commander | Colonel, Low-ranking General |
| Sentinel | 3-Star or Higher General |
| Star Paladin | Medal of Honor recipient |
| BOS ‘Nobility’ | Historical Nobility |
| Knight/Lancer/Cavalier | Knight |
| Knight-Captain | Baron |
| Paladin | Count |
| Paladin-Commander | Duke |
| Elder | King |
| High Elder | High King/Emperor |
Navarro
Well-known member
I haven't rewritten that part of AM yet, but I'll make it more clear that they were collateral damage during the Battle of Boston at the end.
SoManyMistakes
Member
Are you going back and editing your posts on Autumn Morning? ‘Cause they’re being tagged as new.
High Lord Rokland
Active member
My knowledge of Stargate lore is lacking, but that does sound interesting.
AspblastUSA
Well-known member
You know, at first I was disappointed but the more I think about it the more this idea is growing on me to the point that I like it more than the original ME cross now. Though now I'm curious, do you plan on displacing the Stargate timeline? Earth not entering the galactic scene for another couple centuries could have fascinating implications on the various events of the Series. There's great potential in both, though obviously advancing the timeline would require a lot more work. Just off the top of my head the interactions between Fallout Earth and a future Langara would be really interesting, given they were speedrunning nuclear war before SG-1 showed up.